Never Put Off Until Tomorrow
by Potion
Summary: They were supposed to be the happy ones. Except now, George is dead and she's running away from everything she knows. A look into Izzie's thoughts while she's been gone. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
A/N: This was inspired partly by Izzie's line to George in the "Crash into Me" episode ("We're supposed to be the happy ones, George"), partly by her and George's conversation in "It's the End of the World" ("They do. They're doers."), and, of course, partly by Izzie's absence and George's death in more recent episodes. I just wanted to take a deeper look into some thoughts Izzie could have possibly been having in the episodes she's been gone. I threw in some "underlying themes", too, as my English teacher would say, so kudos to anyone who picks up on everything I was trying to get across. I hope you enjoy, and please, review. It makes me feel special. (:

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She isn't happy, but she should be.

She should be with her husband right now, doing things that married couples do. She should be cooking a meal for them, or at least some muffins - he likes her muffins - while they talk about the day and laugh at stupid jokes only they understand. She shouldn't be sitting on a street corner in the middle of the night twisting her wedding ring around her finger. She shouldn't feel the heat of tears running down her cheeks. She shouldn't be staring, unfocused, out into the darkness. She should be _happy._

They were always supposed to be the happy ones, anyway. They had never figured out what Alex was, what her _husband_ was, but she and George were supposed to be the happy ones while Meredith and Cristina were the doers. She and George were watchers, but they were _happy_ watchers, or at least they were supposed to be. It was that simple. Or at least it had been, back when they were interns.

She wonders how everything got so out of control. She wonders when everything got switched around. But she can't tell. She can't put her finger on the time or place or event that messed up everything she had been so sure she had gotten figured out.

She asks herself if it was when she had gotten cancer or if it had started before then. She wonders if it all started happening when she started seeing Denny again, if maybe those simple hallucinations had caused her entire world to make a complete 180. Maybe it was; she can't think of any other time it could have been.

Maybe her being sick is what made them all decide they were tired of who they were. Maybe her cancer was what made Meredith decide life is too short to spend being unhappy. Maybe it's what made George decide to stop being careful. Maybe it's what made Alex decide to marry her, because otherwise, he might not get the chance. Maybe.

Izzie isn't sure at all. There too many _maybe_'s and _what if_'s and _supposed to be'_s and not enough _yes_'s and _for sure_'s. There are only a few facts among all the theories swirling in her brain. All she knows is that they aren't what they were supposed to be anymore. They've switched places and she can't say that she likes it as much as she used to think she would. She doesn't like not being happy.

And she is supposed to be. She and George were supposed to be the happy ones. Except now he's dead and she's running away from all the people she loves and everything she has known for the past few years all because they somehow decided in some part of their minds that being the happy ones just wasn't enough for them. They had to be the doers. He had to take action and join the army and jump in front of a _bus_ and she just had to do _something_, just had to get away so she could think and breathe and move again.

So Meredith and Cristina got to be the happy ones. Meredith got married and Cristina got a boyfriend and a new cardio god and they didn't even have to do much of anything for it.

Izzie doesn't like it. She doesn't like being a doer. She doesn't like not being the happy one. She doesn't like being more twisted than Cristina thought. She doesn't like cancer and she doesn't like running away from Alex and she doesn't like George being dead and she _really_ doesn't like not being able to do a damn thing about any of it. She doesn't like how being a doer seems to mean that she can't be happy. She doesn't like how everything had played out and she wishes she could just go back and change it all.

She sighs, sliding the ring back to its proper place on her finger. For a brief moment she loses control of her thoughts and they slip to Alex, and she finds herself wondering what he's doing and how he's holding up - and just as quickly as they turn to him they snap back, and Izzie stands just to keep her thoughts from wandering to him again.

She wonders how long she will be able to keep this up. She wonders how long she will be able to handle being the doer. She wonders if she will ever get to be the happy one again, and how far away that day is, if it ever comes.

Maybe there is no going back.

George stopped being the happy one, traded it all in to be a doer and then that was it. He didn't get the chance to be happy again. He didn't even get the _chance_.

Izzie is afraid that maybe she won't, either.

She knows she still has time but she isn't sure that she has the chance to make everything right. She can't just waltz back into Seattle Grace and expect everything to be the same as it used to be.

She winces as her head starts to pound. She starts to make her way back to the hotel a few blocks away. Izzie sighs, pressing her fingers to her temple and applying slight pressure in an attempt to stop the throbbing.

She can't just expect everything to be okay, but she can try, can't she? She can try to rebuild everything she tore apart. She can try to fix everything she broke. She can try to mend all the wounds she caused. She can try to replace everything she lost. She can _try_ to be happy again.

_For George, _she tells herself. _For George._

For a split second she thinks she sees him, standing in front of her with a soft smile on his face - or is it sad? She shakes her head and he seems to disappear into the night. She blames the hallucination on the time - it's hours past any sort of decent hour, and she should really try to get some sleep.

Izzie stops at the hotel and leans against the brick wall as she takes a breath and closes her eyes.

Tomorrow, she will go back to Seattle Grace Hospital. She will start to try. She won't explain everything to them at first, even though they will want her to - she won't tell them where she's been or why or what's she been thinking or what's changed, but she will tell them what they need to know. She'll try.

Tomorrow, she will take her last step as a doer and be one step closer to becoming happy again.

Izzie blinks a few times after she opens her eyes and is greeted by a familiar figure a few feet away. Was that George? It couldn't have been. She shakes her head as she realizes that nobody is there and takes a deep breath. Her thoughts are really starting to get to her. She steps into the hotel and makes her way to the elevator, ready to just go to sleep and get her brain to stop racing.

Tomorrow, she'll go back to Seattle.

Tomorrow, she'll start making everything normal again. Tomorrow, she'll take a step in the opposite direction - in the _right _direction.

She pushes the floor number and steps back as it lights up. As she leans back against the cold metal bar, thinking about her tomorrow, an old saying her old high school English teacher used to tell her pops into her head - "_never put off until tomorrow what you can do today_" - and she remembers how much she always hated it when he said it. She remembers the soft smile he would give her and the glance that always made her feel like it meant more to him than he let on. Izzie rubs a hand through her hair and steps off the elevator before the doors have even finished opening, as if her thoughts will be stuck in the elevator after she leaves.

Izzie almost swears she sees George at the end of the hallway before she slides her room key through the slot. Her heart starts to beat a little bit faster as she shoves the door open and pushes it closed behind her. She takes in a ragged breath, asking God if He would please please _please _let her headache go away, then moves immediately to her bag to start packing.

For tomorrow.

_They were supposed to be the happy ones._

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End file.
